I can hear the sincerity in his voice, and maybe even a little bit of concern too. I nod again.
“Okay. Right … okay. So, first, you should know … I remember. All of it. Iremembernow. All I can say is that I was extremely drunk that night. But I know–” he says, holding up his hands as though to ward off my retort, “I know that’s no excuse. I’m just telling you like it is.” He shakes his head, staring intently at the foot that rests on his knee. “I’ve never blacked out before. Never had even close to that much to drink before though either, so maybe it’s just a thing I do when I’m that messed up? Or …” he trails off again.
He drops his foot to the ground with a loud thump and leans forward. I can’t help but lean forward as well.
Or?? Or what?
I catch a whiff of his unique scent–that clean, no-nonsense soapy smell. Whoa. It’s an improvement on the bakery smells wreaking havoc with my system today, and immediately takes me back to that morning, waking up in his arms on the beach. Back to that unforgettable feeling of calm and safety that came over me while I lay there sheltered in his embrace. Back to the sure and steady patter of his heartbeat beneath my palm where it rested on his chest. That was, of course, before reality kicked in and I beat a hasty retreat, the sunrise the only witness to my secret longing to remain in that moment with Noah forever.
My stomach instantly settles as the calm from that memory seemingly washes over me now. And I find my voice again.
“Or what?” I ask.
He locks eyes with me again, and I can see the uncertainty there when he says, “Or maybe I blocked it out on purpose. Maybe …” he pauses, unsure. “Maybe I wasn’t ready to face some things about that night.”
My heart skips and dives in my chest.What the hell does that mean?
But before I can ask him to elaborate, he continues hurriedly. “Anyway, all I can do at this point is apologize profusely. I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable, or used, or demeaned in any way. I never would have willingly pretended like it hadn’t happened, and I’m sorry I was such a jerk last night.”
“Asshole. You were an asshole.”
He flinches, but nods. “Agreed.”
“Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Flinch whenever I swear. Is it because it’s not ladylike? Because I shouldn’t have to tell you at this point, I’mnolady.” I say it with a self-deprecating smirk, but the thought that he might agree with me upsets me more than it should.
“Don’t do that,” his voice is more than a little forceful and it surprises me. He shakes his head. “Don’t put yourself down.”
I just shrug, and he sighs. “I promise it’s not a judgment on you or anyone else when I react that way. I don’t mean to. I guess it’s just … a deeply ingrained response. My parents were very strict growing up, very concerned with keeping up appearances among their pretentious country club peers. My mother would absolutely agree with your comment that it’s un-lady-like behavior to curse,andun-gentlemanly as well. And my father would say it indicates a weak and lazy mind lacking in the appropriate vocabulary.” He says the words by rote as though repeating something he’s likely heard a thousand times. “I don’t feel the same way, but I often flinch because as a kid, when I cursed, it was swiftly followed by a backhand to the face courtesy of my father,” he says bitterly.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, my heart breaking for him and for the little boy he once was. An image of a young Noah suddenly floats to the forefront of my mind. I didn’t really know him as a kid, but I’d seen him around growing up. The few encounters we had in high school were overshadowed by his vicious athletic rivalry with Aidan. He always seemed like such a bully, ready to pick a fight at the drop of a hat.
But I guess even the bullies have bullies.
And we all have baggage.
My abuela used to remind me–usually when I was upset with my mother for taking off and abandoning me yet again–that we don’t know what kind of pain other people are carrying. There’s usually a good reason people are the way they are. And now maybe I understand a little bit more about why he was so angry back then. And why he’s so uptight now.
“That too,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Huh?”
“Taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he supplies. “Also grounds for a smack.”
“I’m so sorry, Noah. I had no idea.”
“Of course not. That was the whole point. We all had to be perfect in public.Perfectfamily …perfectparents …perfectson.” He practically spits the last, emphasizing the word ‘perfect’ each time. “Anyway, I don’t like to talk about it.” He narrows his eyes, gazing at me intently. I feel naked under the weight of his stare and I’m forced to look away dropping my eyes to my hands, clenched tightly in my lap.
“I don’t even know why I just told you that,” he says slowly.
I’m touched that he opened up to me, even just this little bit. “Well, thank you for telling me,” I say quietly. When I glance back up at him his face is a study in neutrality and I can tell he’s ready to change the subject. This conversation has gone from heavy to heavier, yet I feel encouraged by the vulnerability he’s shown while equally unsettled by it. This exchange feels oddly more intimate than what we shared on the beach.
Suddenly I’m hit with another wave of nausea.
“Now, as for the baby–” he starts but is interrupted by me dropping to my knees off my chair and gagging over the nearby waste basket.
